4 Dead, already dead within, Spiritually dead in fin,
Dead to God while here you breathe, Pant ye after fecond death? Will you ftill in fin remain, Greedy of eternal pain? O ye dying finners, why, Why will you for ever die?
SINNERS, obey the gofpel-word! Hafte to the fupper of my Lord! Be wife to know your gracious day! All things are ready; come away.
2 Ready the Father is to own
And kifs his late returning fon : Ready your loving Saviour stands, And spread for you his bleeding hands. 3 Ready the Spirit of his love, Just now the ftony to remove: T'apply, and witness with the blood, And wash, and feal the fons of God.
4 Ready for you the angels wait, To triumph in your blest estate; Tuning their harps they long to praise The wonders of redeeming grace.
5 The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Are ready with their shining host: All heav'n is ready to refound,
"The Dead's alive! The Loft is found."
6 Come then, ye finners, to your Lord, In Chrift to paradife reftor'd; His proffer'd benefits embrace, The plenitude of gospel-grace.
EHOLD the Saviour of mankind Nail'd to the fhameful tree;
How vaft the love that him inclin'd
To bleed and die for thee!
2 Hark, how he groans! while nature fhakes, And earth's ftrong pillars bend; The temple's veil in funder breaks, The folid marbles rend.
3 'Tis done! the precious ranfom's paid, "Receive my foul," he cries!
See, where he bows his facred head! He bows his lead and dies.
4 But foon he'll break death's envious chain, And in full glory shine:
O Lamb of God! was ever pain, Was ever love like thine!
LOVE divine! what haft thou done! Th' immortal God hath dy'd for me! The Father's co-eternal Son
Bore all my fins upon the tree: Th' immortal God for me hath dy'd; My Lord, my Love is crucify'd!
2 Behold him, all ye that pass by,
The bleeding Prince of life and peace! Come, fee, ye worms, your Maker die, And fay, was ever grief like his ! Come feel with me his blood apply'd; My Lord, my Love, is crucify'd!
3 Is crucify'd for me and you,
To bring us rebels back to God; Believe, believe the record true, Ye all are bought with Jefu's blood;
Pardon for all flows from his fide; My Lord, my Love is crucify'd. 4 Then let us fit, beneath his crofs,
And gladly catch the healing ftream; All things for him account but lofs,
And give up all our hearts to him; Of nothing think or fpeak befide; My Lord, my Love is crucify'd.
HYMN VIII.
HEE we adore, eternal name, And humbly own to thee, How feeble is our mortal frame, What dying worms we be !
2 Our wafting lives grow shorter ftill, As days and months increase; And ev'ry beating pulfe we tell, Leaves but the number lefs.
3 The year rolls round, and fteals away The breath that first it gave: Whate'er we do, where'er we be, We're trav'ling to the grave.
4 Dangers ftand thick through all the ground, To push up to the tomb; And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.
5 Great God! on what a lender thread Hang everlasting things; Th' eternal ftates of all the dead, Upon life's feeble ftrings!
6 Infinite joy, or endless woe Depends on ev'ry breath!
And yet how unconcern'd we go Upon the brink of death.
7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense, To walk this dang'rous road; And if our fouls are hurry'd hence, May they be found with God!
WHEN rifing from the bed of death,
O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear, I view my maker face to face, O how fhall I appear!
2 If yet, while pardon may be found, And mercy may be fought;
My foul with inward horror fhrinks, And trembes at the thought!
3 When thou, O Lord, fhalt ftand difclos'd In majefty fevere,
And fit in judgment on my foul, O how thall I appear!
4 O may my broken, contrite heart Timely my fins lament,
And early with repentant tears Eternal woe prevent!
5 Behold the forrows of my heart, Ere yet it be too late ;
And hear my Saviour's dying groan, To give those forrows weight.
6 For never shall my foul despair Her pardon to fecure,
Who knows thy only Son hath dy'd To make that pardon fure.
HYMN X.
I AND am I born to die?
To lay this body down? And must my trembling spirit fly Into a world unknown? A land of deepest shade, Unpierc'd by human thought! The dreary regions of the dead, Where all things are forgot! 2 Soon as from earth I go, What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Muft then my portion be! Wak'd by the trumpet's found, I from my grave shall rife,
And fee the Judge with glory crown'd, And fee the flaming skies! How fhall I leave my tomb! With triumph or regret?
A fearful or a joyful doom,
A curfe or bleffing meet? Will angel-band's convey Their brother to the bar? Or devils drag my foul away, To meet its fentence there? Who can refolve the doubt
That tears my anxious breaft? Shall I be with the damn'd cast out, Or number'd with the bleft? I must from God be driv'n, Or with my Saviour dwell:
Muft come at his command to heav'n,
Or else depart to hell.
O thou, that wouldft not have One wretch'd finner die,
Who dy'dft thyfelf my foul to fave From endless mifery!
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